


Provoke Me

by Magichemistry



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Murder, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magichemistry/pseuds/Magichemistry
Summary: Come say hi to me: tumblr.com/bad--bad--man





	Provoke Me

You brush your little finger against the corner of your bottom lip as you look in the rearview mirror of your car. Then, you let out a deep sigh, slow with tiredness and annoyance.

The Gazette Telegraph, the newspaper you work for, doesn’t pay overtime. And they pay even less for encounters with criminals to get information about what’s happening in the city.

But it’s part of your job. And that’s what you’re doing tonight. You’re about to see a guy they called el Puma. He’s the typical criminal that sells drugs on the street and has the best gossip of Colorado Springs. If you wanna know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, you should ask Puma.

You open the door of your car, with your camera hanging around your neck and get down, pulling down your yellow plaid mini-skirt and cursing the men in charge at the Gazette who want all their female employees to always look feminine and pretty[[SS1]](https://bad--bad--man.tumblr.com/post/175386630631/provoke-me#_msocom_1) . Your camera swings side to side as you bend down.

You and Puma always meet in this place: a lonely street at the back of a liquor store. To the right, there’s a small alley that protects you from other people’s looks.

You cross the street and you’re about to reach the alley when you see a pair of feet lying on the ground. You don’t have time to react when a brown car parks in a brusque way, making you flinch. Thank God you’re not wearing high heels, because then you’d be on your ass on the dirty pavement.

“Since when does the press arrive before the police?” A guy you know very well gets out of the brown car and slams the door.

“Zimmerman,” you say.

“(L/N),” he answers back.

The fact that you and Zimmerman know each other was inevitable. With him working at the police force and you being a crime reporter, you see each other practically every day. The fact that you can’t stand each other is because both of you are good at what you do.

“How did you find out?” he asks you.

You take a quick glance to your left, where the feet are lying and you reach to see they belong to Puma. His white shirt is stained with shiny blood and his eyes are open. His dead gaze isn’t from terror; it’s more like an empty look, lacking any emotion.

“I have my contacts,” you lie. If he only knew that the dead guy lying on the ground was your contact. But you’re too smart to know you’d be the first suspect since you and Puma agreed to meet in this place.

“I bet you do,” he says annoyed. “Nice outfit, by the way.” His eyes travel down to your legs and stay in the part where you’re showing skin, between the skirt and the long white socks.

You roll your eyes and take a step forward to see the crime scene better. Zimmerman is about to tell you to back up when a patrol car parks next to his car and two cops in uniform step out of it.

You take the opportunity that he’s talking to the cops to bend down and observe Puma’s wound. Someone stabbed him, there’s no doubt. A part of his shirt is torn and you can see the broken skin. The main questions are who and why.

“Back up, (L/N), I’m not telling you again,” Zimmerman warns you.

“Relax, I didn’t touch anything.”

You take a step back like he told you and the cops put the typical barricade tape that says “POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS.”

“Provoke me, (L/N),” he says with his jaw clenched. “I dare you. Give me an excuse to put you behind bars.”

“Are you threatening me, officer Zimmerman?” You pretend to be in shocked and you’d put your hand against your chest if it weren’t for your camera.

You smirk when he doesn’t say anything back. Round one is won by you. He goes to talk to the cops and you decide this is the perfect moment to take a picture.

“That’s it, (L/N)!” Zimmerman catches you in the act. “You’re going with me.” He walks behind you and twists your arms behind your back.

“What? No!” You fight against his hold. “Get off of me!”

He puts a pair of handcuffs on you and drags you to his car, ignoring your complaints.

“This is unconstitutional! You have no right!”

“Obstruction of justice, disrespecting an officer. Trust me, I’ll find something to accuse you,” he says with a grin of victory on his face. “Watch the head.”

He pushes in the car and locks all the doors. Round two is won by him.

* * *

“Sit down there.” He pushes to a chair next to the desk. At this hour, the police station is empty and silent.

“Aren’t you going to put me in a cell?” you say with a tone of sarcasm.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

“Try me.” With your hands behind your back, you flip your head to get a piece of hair out of your head and puff out your chest.

Zimmerman stares at you for a moment, like he’s thinking if he should accept your dare, and then says:

“Another time, perhaps. Are you ready to talk now?”

“To talk about what?” Your plan is to pretend you have no idea who Puma is and you were there not to meet him, but to write a note for the newspaper of tomorrow.

“Don’t play dumb, I know you’re better than that. I’m talking about how you found out there was a dead body in that God-forsaken alley.”

“I don’t reveal my sources,” you say and look away.

“Very well,” Zimmerman drags his chair closer to the desk. “Then we’ll be staying here until you’re ready to talk.”

“Wow, Zimmerman, I know you have no life but I do, so let me go. We both know you can’t retain me here.” As you cross one leg over the other, your skirt slides a little up.

He leans back in his chair and looks at you with a stupid grin plastered on his lips. He’s taunting you, teasing you, to see if he can corner you and make you talk.

“Convince me.” The grin grows wider.

“What?”

“Come on, convince me. It’s part of your job, isn’t it?” He crosses his arms and waits for your next move.

You’re wearing a mini-skirt, the place is empty. Of course, you can convince him, see how far is willing to go before he gets scared.

“Alright.” You get up from the chair and lean against the edge of the desk. His eyes are fixed on you, tracing each of your movements.

You ignore the pain in your wrists and hop on the desk, Zimmerman drags his chair back to give you more space.

“You want me to convince you, uh?” You put your right foot between his legs, in the little space left empty on the chair. “You want me to provoke you?”

Zimmerman licks his lips, thinking you’re dish he’s about to savor. And just like you, he wants to see how far you’re willing to go.

If you decide to stop the game right here, he won’t try anything else. He’ll let you go home and start hating each other again.

But if you’re good at something in your work, it’s that you don’t back up at things like this. You put a brave facade and go fast and hard till the end.

“Who tells you to wear this little skirt?” He grabs your legs and spreads them, the fast movement makes you lean to the back.

“Me,” you lie. You don’t want to tell him that sometimes, as a woman, being good at your job isn’t enough.

“Mmmm,” he groans and brushes his fingers on your bare thighs. Your skirt is practically up to your waist.

“Are you gonna do something, Zimmerman? Or are you just going to admire my underwear?” Your tongue travels along your lip from side to side and you give him a daring smile.

“So brave from you to say that, (L/N).” He grabs your panties with both sides and rips them in one harsh movement. He puts them in the back pocket of his jeans.

You gasp at his roughness and you don’t have time to say anything when his head is already between your legs.

You bite your lip and shut your eyes closed. Zimmerman knows how to use his tongue not only to talk shit but also to eat you out like a master.

The tip of his tongue traces circles in your clit and you can’t avoid bucking your hips at him. You want more, you want him to devour you, to destroy you and leave you panting on top of his desk.

“So good”, he groans between long strides. He explores you more and his tongue slides in your pussyhole.

“Mmm, fuck,” you moan and undulate your hips so his tongue reaches deeper inside you.

You try to lay back but with your hands at your back it’s impossible. You look down and Zimmerman’s head is hidden under your skirt.

“Can you take the handcuffs?”

He gives a good long lick to your cunt from your hole to your clit and then looks at you:

“No, I don’t trust you.”

Fair enough, you think. You wouldn’t trust in yourself either, and it’s not like you trust him.

“Smart guy,” you manage to mumble before he returns his mouth to your pussy.

He traps your swollen clit between his lips and sucks hard, you whine in pleasure and against any logic thought, you beg him:

“Please, please, I’m so close!”

The more the knot of your belly tenses, the more you’re sure he won’t let you come. But he keeps going, grabbing both of your thighs and holding you in place.

His motions are like him: rough, straight to the point.

Your thighs shake and you explode in pleasure breathing fast, Zimmerman keeps his mouth stuck to your clit. Your whole body shudders in the shockwaves of your orgasm.

“Ah,” he pulls away and breathes deeply. “Your pussy tastes better than beer.”

“Is that a compliment?” you say with tired heavy eyes and lazy voice.

“No, it’s a fact.”

He gets up and you notice the big bulge in his crotch. Without saying a word, he grabs your waist and pulls you down his desk.

With your bodies stick to each other, you think he’s about to kiss you and it seems he guesses your thoughts because he chuckles and flips you over, avoiding your mouth.

“This is a better view,” he says and bends you over the desk. He lifts your skirt and your butt cheeks are exposed to him.

“What are you doing?” You struggle to breathe in this position. It’s hard when your arms are still stuck at your back and you try to maintain your head up.

“Sometimes I don’t know if you’re stupid or you pretend to be.” He unzips his jeans and takes his cock.

“Fuck you,” you spit out to him. You know you’re not stupid and you won’t let anyone tell you that.

“That’s what you want, don’t you?” The tip of his cock bumps against your cheeks and you feel a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t worry, you’re ready.” He sees the goosebumps on your skin and tries to soothe you. It’s the only gentle gesture he has had with you.

He spreads your butt cheeks and sinks down in you. You receive him wet and warm, and he has to stop for a second to regain his self-control.

“Flip,” you moan. His cock rubs your inner walls and in this position, you feel tighter.

“Fuck,” he groans and gives a thrust. “You’re so tight, so perfect.” He grabs the handcuffs with one hand and pushes back to his cock, his other hand brushes your ass.

“Always provoking me,” he watches how his cock disappears in you over and over. “Always taunting me.”

“I think, fuck, I think I’m gonna come again.” You arch your back and spread your legs to receive his hard thrusts. Your vision fades to black for a few seconds as you come.

“Fuck, (Y/N), you’re getting tighter.” He grinds his teeth and he knows he’s on the edge. “Can I come in you?”

“Yes!” It sounds like a plea.

Flip snaps his hips one more time and his cock pulses as it releases cum in you.

“Fuck,” he says between huffs. He’s trying to regain his composure.

“Thank you,” you say when he frees your hands. You stand up straight and rub your wrists against each other. They look a little red.

“Did I hurt you?” he genuinely asks.

“No,” you shake your head. “Am I free to go now?”

“Yes, you always were free to go. All you had to do was say it.” Flip starts to feel conflicted. Did you want this as much as him? Or did you really feel threatened by him?

“Yeah, whatever.” If you’re honest with yourself, you’re a little hurt he didn’t even kiss you. But what could you expect from him?

You walk to the exit with no panties on, a sticky sensation between your legs and no dignity. But then a pair of arms grab you and stops you.

“You drive me crazy, (L/N).” He’s back using your last name instead of your first name but this time it sounds different, like an inner joke between you and him.  

“Stop it, Zimmerman,” you giggle like a foolish girl and he keeps peppering kisses along your neck. You didn’t get a kiss on the mouth but this is nice too.

“Will you ever tell me who your contact was?” He nuzzles his nose behind your ear.

“Take me to dinner and I’ll consider it,” you say, with the intention of keeping silent about Puma’s murder. Flip doesn’t know you knew him and you prefer it stays that way.

With a last peck on your cheek, he lets you go. But he stares as you walk away. It seems you’ll remain a mystery for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me: tumblr.com/bad--bad--man


End file.
